Sins of the Flesh
by laurdogg
Summary: The little rat follows her dark prince as he escapes. Rated for future chapters. EM. Ch 4 up!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, sadly. All characters originally belonged to Gaston Leroux, but have since been divied up, as it seems. Moral of the store: rights aren't mine.**

**AN: This is completely in progress. Feedback is VERY WELCOMED. I won't continue unless I know it is wanted. Not sure where this is going. Ideas are welcome.**

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No light came from the path ahead of her. The bleak, startling blackness absorbed the sounds of her soft, tentative footsteps. His escape route was obviously meant for only him. The fear of traps and hidden dangers crept up her spine, making her shiver. A sudden noise made her stop. A heart wrenching, animalistic sob tore through the still, damp air. The gravity of the sound, the pure pain held in that single, tormenting note caused tears to well in her widened eyes. She threw herself around the bend to land on her knees at his side. He flinched away, his distorted face further contorting into a look of furious horror.

"What are you _doing_?" His voice was low and strangled as he straightened, his menacing form towering over her. She bowed her head, very suddenly ashamed.

"I didn't want to let you leave alone," she said, rushing her words.

"And why," he said quietly, his eyes flashing dangerously as he advanced. "Would you possibly care whether I was alone or not?"

She stared silently for a moment, trembling beneath his icy, raging gaze.

"I don't know," she whispered, her chocolate eyes pleading for mercy.

"You don't know?" he roared, stopping as shouts rang out behind them. His eyes narrowed and he grabbed her roughly by the arm, hauling her to her feet. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to think of a reason, won't you?" he growled, hurrying down the passageway. His strides were long and they moved swiftly, emerging into the safe cloak of the Paris night. She stumbled along behind him as he pulled her further into the shadows. He glared around them and released her, seeming to have second thoughts.

"If you swear never to speak of this encounter, I will allow you to return to the Opera House." He spoke softly, his voice tense, and she could see an almost frightened weariness glittering in his dark eyes. She stepped towards him, holding his gaze.

"I know a place we can stay, for tonight at least."

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He lit a candle, the flickering flame casting a muted glow about the small, sparsely furnished room. She perched lightly on the edge of the bed, watching his movements with a strange mixture of fear and desire.

"You're the little Giry girl, aren't you?" He moved to stand in front of her as he spoke, lean arms folded across a broad expanse of firm chest. She nodded. "And you are friends with…Christine?" He struggled visibly to say her name, and she nodded again. His gaze darkened as he scowled with mild irritation. "Do you speak at all, damn it?"

"Meg," she said quietly, raising her eyes to his face. "My name is Meg."

"Meg," he repeated, his expression softening. "I knew that. At least, I should have. You'll have to excuse me." He smiled dryly. "I'm a little out of sorts."

She looked at him a little sadly as she stood. "You should sleep. It's obvious you've had quite a trying night." He sat rather roughly in the spot she had previously occupied.

"Why are you here? Why are you not with her?" He was hunched into himself protectively, his hands gripping the bedcovers, his eyes boring into her. She turned her head, unable to withstand his piercing gaze.

"She has no need for me. She has Raoul now. But you need someone."

"What makes you think I need anyone?" he snapped.

"Though you protest, I know that you do not want to be alone. It's simply what you're used to, and Christine certainly did not help that thinking. Someone has to show you that you don't have to be alone."

He rose imperiously, taking a step near her. "And I suppose you think it should be you? Do you believe you are a match for me, Little Meg?"

She stood her ground, her little fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"I believe you should give me a chance."

"Give me one good reason why I should."

She swiftly closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his and resting her tiny hand against his bare, malformed cheek. He made a disgruntled but pleased sound of surprise, responding immediately, despite any misgivings he may have held. She pulled away after a few moments, her breathing heavy, her eyes half closed.

"Is that good enough?"

His eyes remained shut, hot breath hissing from between parted lips. The anger had disappeared from the sharp lines of his misshapen face, replaced with a sort of confused, slack-jawed awe. Her fingertips flitted across his sunken cheek and his breath hitched in his throat. Suddenly, he was glaring down at her in a vicious way.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat, his fists clenched and his breath ragged. "Trying to seduce me? And then are you just going to hand me to the police Meg? Is that your plan, you horrid little rat? Or are you simply going to lead me on, just to watch me fall again? Hoping that maybe this time the wretched monster will do himself off, once and for all." Her eyes were wide, horror stricken. She stared at him, unnerved by this sudden shift.

"No, Erik! That's not it at all!" She had intended to sound strong and indignant, but ended up sounding like a meek, frightened mouse. He stepped towards her. His fury mounted swiftly as he gripped her arms fiercely, his eyes livid.

"Where did you hear that? Who told you my name?" His voice was a growl, deadly quiet.

"I- it was...Christine." She breathed her name almost cautiously, terrified of his reaction. His hands on her arms sent tiny jolts of electricity through her, making her shiver. His fingers were digging painfully into her skin, and she never wanted him to let go, for reasons she didn't quite comprehend. He froze, then shook his head and released her.

"Of course," he muttered somewhat distantly. She stayed where she was, petrified. "I apologize. I was out of line." He turned from her, running a hand through his hair. She was utterly baffled at his rapid change in temperament. She sat on the bed, staying silent, her dark eyes wide and watchful. He faced her again, a look of weary resignation on his face. "What do you want, Meg Giry?"

'What do I want?' she thought. 'I want you to hurt me because I like it and I don't understand why. I want to feel your hands and your lips on me, because it's the only time I've ever felt truly alive. You set me on fire, in a new and frightfully lovely way. I want to marry you, so I never have to leave your side and you can show me how to live every moment of every day. I want all of you, and I want you to take all of me in return.'

"I don't know what I want," she said softly.


	2. Chapter 2

"I want you," she said simply. His gaze was guarded, but surprised, and his lips involuntarily curled into a wolfish grin. He grabbed her by the arms again, lifting her off the ground so her face was near his.

"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into," he growled.

"I know," she said, biting her lip to stop from moaning out loud at his rough handling of her. With a strangled snarl he threw her on the bed, striding to the opposite side of the room. She sat up on her elbows, panting lightly, her eyes locked onto his lean form.

"Erik." Her voice was hoarse with want, her knuckles white clutching the comforter. He ignored her plea, leaning against the windowsill, breathing in the cool, clean night air.

"Go to sleep," he ordered, and she obeyed. Slowly, she crawled under the covers, still fully dressed. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and listened to the ragged breathing coming from across the room. Soon, it eased back into a normal, quiet rhythm, but still she listened on. It was not long before sleep overtook the slight dancer, her lithe form stretched beneath the light comforter, her breath fluttering from rosy, parted lips. He turned to watch the angel that was fast asleep, just across the room from him. His feet carried his unwilling form close to the bed, and against all reason, his fingertips reached down to brush a cascading onyx curl from her porcelain-doll face. She hardly stirred, although her lips curled slightly upwards at the corners in a soft, sleep-muddled smile. It was in those few moments that the slightly nervous, infatuated and deadly determined man slowly clawed his way up from the black, dank shadows that now consumed Erik's soul. He had loved Christine; this much was true. But the obsession had not been about the love he held for her. No, the obsession had been borne and bred of jealously, of a dark desire to feel youthful, powerful – human. It was only now, in this tiny bedroom where the stillness was broken only by the gentle sound of breath circling endlessly through the little sprite that lay before him, that he realized Christine had not made him feel human. She had treated him like the monster he believed himself to be, not denying the hideousness of his face, never proving herself to be worthy of anything. She had gotten precisely what she had asked for, and exactly what she deserved: the love of a boy. And that is what Raoul was – no more than a boy, who could care for her no more than a boy could. But Meg…Meg was defiant, Meg was hardheaded and willful and reckless to the point of stupidity at times, but good God did she know what she was doing. Mere hours had passed since their meeting in the tunnel, and yet Erik knew in his heart that something was beginning. It frightened him to no end, scared him witless to know that he was vulnerable, flayed open and stripped bare for this…this child who was wise beyond her years. He had suffered on this very night the unendurable pain of heartbreak, and yet he had indeed endured. He had been fully prepared to hand himself over, to allow Death to conquer him, if only to be rid of the pain…and then…he had been saved.

Daylight came swiftly, and with it, a heavy fog hanging low over the streets of Paris. It crept in through windows and seeped into floorboards, dampening everything. Erik woke curled on the hard, wooden floor beside the bed, a thin blanket from the chair pulled tightly around him. His joints ached as he stood, his knees stiff, his back cracking. Meg stirred slowly, stretching in a catlike manner, turning her face to the stream of sunlight pouring from the open window. The sounds of the city waking up accompanied the golden rays, the hustle and bustle of the market below them winding through the lacy curtains. It was hard to believe that only hours ago he had been running, hiding from the world to save his own neck. The morning seemed so calm and peaceful, that it was simply inconceivable that everything was anything but right in the world.

He washed in the stone basin, with water a maid brought and Meg received, as she watched with curious eyes from her perch on the bed. She always seemed to be doing that, just watching, observing. Sometimes she was so quiet he even forgot she was there. Then he would turn and see her lovely face, and his breath would catch and the color would rush to his cheeks. It was positively exhilarating, and he couldn't grasp why.

"I need to leave," he said as he secured his mask on his face. She had just produced it from the small sack she carried. He had not noticed her bag before, but there it had been all along. It was only another testament to how simply out of his mind he had been the previous night.

She didn't speak, only tilted her head to the side, he wide eyes questioning.

"I have some errands to run. I'll be back by nightfall." And with that he left behind her burning gaze, those daring, piercing eyes that saw to his very soul. He left her alone with her thoughts, curled tightly on the bed, the desire burning through her as her eyes did through him.

He was good to his word, and just as the sun began to dip down below the horizon, he returned. With him he brought food and drink, and new clothes for them both. Hers was a deep, wine-colored gown of silk, finer than ever she had set eyes on. Her gasp alarmed them both when she revealed the garment, and despite himself, he smiled, a genuine smile at seeing her so happy.

"But," she cried, "why? Why such a lovely thing, Erik?"

"I'm…I'm taking you to dinner. Not in Paris, that's too dangerous. I am not stupid." He said swiftly at the look on her face. "There is a carriage, waiting outside. I have paid both the carriage driver and the restaurant owner handsome sums of money to allow us this luxury. But do not, under any circumstance, get used to this. It shan't happen often, I assure you, if ever again."

She nodded wordlessly, unable to express her gratitude and admiration. He was so brave to venture out like this. She was soon dressed, her hair twisted up into a delicate bun at the nape of her neck, the dress becoming her in a way he had not imagined.

"Erik," she said softly, approaching him tentatively as he donned his jacket. "Why?"

"Because you do not deserve to be caged like an animal, Meg." His voice was slightly strained, and she moved very close to him, her eyes shining up at him. "That is, if you will allow me this tiny liberty, escorting you to dinner." He had regained his scathing tone, and it made her smile regardless.

"I would be positively honored."

Dinner was short and quiet, considering the only people in the small establishment were the owner, Meg, and Erik himself. The food was delicious and the service impeccable, as had been expected. It was what was to come that was not.

The carriage dropped them in front of the inn, once again under the protection of the night. They entered the room silently, Meg still smiling broadly, clearly happy as could be. She stood in the center of the room, her smile slowly fading as he strode to the window, seemingly unhappy. He felt foolish for venturing into public as he had. Why was he risking all for this child? The clear, sharp image of her sleeping in the quiet darkness sprang to mind. She had no idea what she was doing! He was a killer, a monster! Did she not understand that?

"What's wrong, Erik?" She was suddenly wary, all too aware of how quickly his mood could shift.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he turned and stood in front of her with appraising eyes, his hands clasped elegantly behind his back. He watched her silently for a few moments, his dark, calculating gaze boring into her. She couldn't bear to meet those eyes. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at being examined so closely. If she wanted to be with him, she had to be prepared for it all. He had to make her see what she was throwing herself into before it was too late.

"Take your clothes off."

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

"What?" she whispered, the color draining from her face.

"You heard me." His voice was quiet, with no emotion. "Take off your clothes."

She stayed still for beat, and then slowly began to unbutton her dress as he kept his eyes on her, a majestic air about him. With a soft rustle of silk, the dress slithered from her slim shoulders, falling in a puddle of burgundy at her feet. Next was the slip, white and crisp in the darkness of the room. Finally, she removed her corset and undergarments. The moonlight streamed through the window of the small room, glowing with ethereal, untouchable warmth. She stood before him, her pale, translucent skin seeming to glow. He moved in a slow, predatory circle around her, his eyes burning through her, taking in every luscious curve and sultry shadow. He stopped in front of her, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. She didn't flinch; no, she did not move an inch, but to lift her gaze to his face. Her eyes were dark with lust, begging permission. He nodded minutely, and her tiny hand found its way to his mask, removing it and tossing it to the floor in a single, fluid motion. They stood in a lover's embrace as his misshapen lips brushed feather-light down the sloping curve where her neck met her shoulder. Slowly, tentatively, his gentle but insistent hands guided her to rest on the cold, hard floor, her dark hair and creamy, smooth skin glittering in the soft light, contrasting fiercely. She had the appearance of an angel, the likes of which he had never seen. She was a shadowed angel, a harbinger of dark desire and sin, and he reveled in that darkness. They kissed for what seemed like hours, his hands slowly, almost sacredly, exploring every inch of her porcelain skin. But too soon he forced himself to stop, afraid of what may come if they continued in this fashion. He lifted her to the bed, tucking her under the covers and lying beside her, the blankets a slight shield between their bodies. They could not block the heat emanating from skin, and though they were not touching, each still felt the remnants of what had passed between them, both physically and emotionally. She had loved him without fear, without pretense, and he had accepted her fully and without hesitation. He was changed, though for better or worse he could not yet tell.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning came and went, and neither stirred. It had taken Erik quite some time to fall asleep. He could not tear his mind away from her. Each thought burned deeper and fiercer than the last with a fire that consumed his very soul. He loved her; there was no denying that. Nor could he deny any longer that she did truly love him. This was dangerous, treacherous ground they were treading. He could feel the thin, splintering ice beneath him begin to break, and God did he fear the fall. How much pain could his aging heart take before it simply stopped? Would this little, angelic wolf be the end of him, or the beginning? Could he dare to dream of redemption in her delicate arms? He could. He could dream it, oh he could see it, feel it, and taste it – there, in her kiss! Her lips brushed feather-light against his, her eyes closed. Slight, tentative hands moved up his arm and touched his face; a warm, soft body pressed closer to his. He woke, slowly, uncomprehendingly, to her caress. She finally opened her eyes just as he did to gaze at him, infatuated in the deepest way.

"Meg," he murmured, testing the tenor of his voice. It rumbled low in his chest, hoarse from sleep, and she giggled ever so softly.

"Erik," she sighed, kissing him again. He was wary, and she could sense it. He was tense and hesitant. "It's all right…I'm still here. I'm not leaving."

"How? How do you not fear me?" He spoke so quietly she strained to hear him, but as she did, her breath caught in her throat.

"You are too incredible…too wonderful to fear." She answered simply, honestly, and it did not surprise him. She did not let him respond. Instead, she pressed one more kiss to his misshapen lips and slithered out of bed, gathering her clothes for the day. He watched her with a frightening intensity, though it was nothing to match what had occupied his eyes the previous night. She dressed slowly, enjoying the sensation of being watched. She felt his eyes on her, on every exposed part of her, and she basked in it. It was hard for her to believe that only two days ago, she had been nothing but a dancer. Now…now, she was _his_. What a positively enthralling feeling, to belong to someone so magnificent! To be _owned_ and controlled, in such a delicious way, with no force necessary, though much desired. She was terrified of, yet so excited by this part of herself, so submissive and willing to please. She wondered how far she would let him go. But the answer was clear: as far as he pleased, and then some. She glanced over her shoulder to see him leaning up on his elbows, eyes alight with desire. A shiver danced up and down her spine in response.

"I want to take you somewhere today," she said, buttoning her dress and grabbing her riding cloak. "Is that all right?"

He nodded, not even asking where and swiftly dressed himself, his mask securely set on his face.

"Well, then let's go." He held his arm out for her, tucking her little hand safely in the crook of his elbow. She smiled broadly, reaching up to lightly rest her fingertips against his cheek for a moment, then led them out the door, hailing a carriage.

They arrived at a small cottage half an hour outside the city. It looked cozy and warm, a beautiful garden surrounding it. He helped her from the carriage after she instructed him to return in three hours, dropping a few extra coins in his hand. She beamed at the little abode and immediately he registered that this was her home.

"It's lovely," he whispered in her ear, leaning down to press his lips to her cheek. Her smile broadened, if that was possible as she led him inside.

"Maman is still in the city. She has an apartment near the Opera House, which is where she stayed regardless. She won't be home for at least three more days," she rambled as she wandered through the kitchen, leading him, her hand clutching tightly to his. "She's still setting affairs in order, last I heard – Maman!" Her scream echoed through the house as she entered the sitting room to find her mother sitting in an armchair reading a book. She looked up, mildly surprised.

"Meg! I thought you were still in Paris, ma cherie!"

Meg gaped, hardly unable to believe her mother was home, let alone her easy reaction.

"I- uh…I…" She was at a loss for words. Erik stepped forward gallantly, smiling pleasantly.

"Corrine, how wonderful to see you again. It is a great relief to find you well after the…accident." He placed his arm deliberately around Meg's waist, holding her tight against him, almost as if to keep her standing. Corrine smiled warmly, moving to stand near them.

"Monsieur…Erik. At last. I was beginning to wonder when you would finally see." She cast a knowing glance to her daughter. "Welcome to the family…or is it still too soon for that greeting?"

"No, Corrine," he said, glancing sideways at Meg. "I believe it is just right." Meg blushed furiously, and Erik stepped back to watch her converse with her mother. His arms were folded across his chest, though for once, it was not in an intimidating gesture. It was relaxed, joyful and content. He knew that it was true; there would be no parting him from Meg now. She was more than he could ever have wanted, more than he deserved, and yet he was stubbornly unwilling to lose her now. He had no fear though, knowing that she loved him as deeply as he did her. She turned to him after a few minutes, beckoning him forward.

"Come…I've yet to show you what we came for."

He followed her up the stairs, past the second floor, to the attic. It was high-ceilinged and lofty, sunlight streaming through the windows. Meg moved directly to a dusty form covered by a sheet in the corner. She swiftly pulled the sheet away, sending puffs of dust into the air, revealing a beautiful baby grand piano. Erik smiled widely, striding over to her and pulling her into an embrace, kissing her deeply. They parted after a moment, and she rested her head on his chest.

"How did this happen? Us, so quickly, I mean?"

"I'm not quite sure," he said, smiling. "Though I am dearly glad it did."

They disentangled themselves from each other and he moved to sit at the piano, his long, elegant fingers resting on the keys.

"Play," she said, standing behind him, her hands resting on his back. "Please?"

He began to play. It was a soft, haunting melody that twisted and snaked through the air, caressing her with its gentle tendrils of ecstatic sound. It was subdued, but so full of emotion. Her eyes closed of their own accord as she was lost in the music, letting it pull her under and drown her in sweet sensation. His eyes closed as well, his fingers quickening across the keys, the song changing and morphing. It became harder, more urgent and forceful. A soft gasp escaped her lips, her nails digging into his back. He hardly noticed. He continued playing, the song escalating swiftly. She moved and swayed with the rise and fall of the notes. There were no thoughts in her mind but of him; of his touch, the feel of his skin beneath her hands. His music was no longer simply music. It was their love, changing fast, becoming something out of their control. It was what they both wanted – that crescendo building, reaching, pure ecstasy winding up and slowly coming down, their breath ragged in unison. Clinging, grasping notes, wanting more, more, more, never satiated, never satisfied. Getting more, sweet, delicious more, building again, slower this time, pounding towards the ending that is not truly an ending, but a beginning. The music was a marriage of sound and sense; their love, a marriage of sound mind and senselessness. Suddenly, it came to a crashing end as she whimpered quietly, stifled against the bunching muscles of his back, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

"Erik…" She breathed, panting heavily. He turned in her embrace, kissing her hard. She matched his intensity, escalating it as the music had. "You are too amazing." Her words were breathy against his lips.

"Meg," he said, pulling away from her and taking her face in his hands, gazing down at her intently. "Meg…I…I love you."

"Oh Erik!" She cried, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I love you too!"

They remained that way for a very long time, until finally Corrine knocked, peeking in.

"How are you two? Hungry? I've made dinner."

They shared gentle smiles as Erik stood and took her hand. "Starving, Corrine. Come Meg…and then we'll go home."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is a short little chapter that demanded to be written tonight. I didn't want to add to the last chapter, because each chapter has a certain mood at this point. It may be a little bit till the next one, so hold tight! Enjoy in the mean time.

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It was nearly midnight by the time they made it back to the little apartment. Erik's mood had slowly turned foul as the carriage neared the city. Meg was worried, unsure what had upset him. He stalked into the bedroom, stripping down to his trousers and splashing some cold water from the basin on his face. He leaned heavily against the basin, glancing at his face in the mirror, disgusted with himself. He could see her reflection in the mirror, standing a foot or so behind him, looking as innocent and bewildered as a child.

"I shouldn't have said that," he said darkly, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"Said what, Erik?" She was quiet, afraid to hear the answer.

"That I loved you."

Her eyes widened. "You…don't?" A deep, cutting pain flashed in her eyes, quickly masked by a hardened anger.

"It's too dangerous. You don't realize…who I am. What I am."  
"I realize full well, Erik," she snapped. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't! If you don't love me then what the hell are we even doing here? I would have stayed with Maman!"

That remark stung him, though he was thoroughly unsure why. All he knew was that he could not let her love him. It was too much, too soon, too horrible. She was too sweet and kind and blindly loving. He was a monster. She was a beauty, who should never love a beast, never want to love such a beast as him. He whirled on her, his fists clenched against the rising rage, bitter bile in his throat.

"I'm dangerous, Meg! Don't you understand that? I've killed men!" He spoke slowly, as if to a child, on the verge of yelling. She, on the other hand, was staring at him calmly, almost coldly, her head held high. His anger mounted at her lack of response. "I don't love you! I didn't mean it! I only said it because I missed Christine, and I had hoped that I could fool myself into believing I loved you instead!" She winced only slightly, her face betraying nothing. Behind her mask of stone, her heart shattered into a million little pieces. He knew it was cruel, he knew it was harsh and uncalled for, and he hoped to God she left him now and never came back so he would never have to face that darling face again. His little dark angel, who he had crushed and destroyed in a single blow. She would never forgive him.

"Goodbye, Erik." Her voice was emotionless, and with a last piercing stare, she gathered her small bag of things and left the apartment, the door shutting with an echoing thud behind her.

Erik did not sleep that night, nor for many nights after. It wasn't until his body was fully ready to collapse from exhaustion that he did finally fall into a dreamless, desperate sleep. He was so unsure of himself, for the first time in his life. He did love her, that much he knew. But she was so much better off without him. She could find a young, wealthy aristocrat and marry into a good life, a happy life. What young, beautiful woman such as her, with such fire, such passion, would willingly waste the best years of her life with a decrepit old man? He spent hours upon hours trying to convince himself of this, but try as he might, though his brain told him it was only logical, his heart would not budge.

Meg was miserable, but no amount of misery would budge her stubborn mind. Her heart yearned and ached for him, her body called for his, but her mind was adamant. He did not love her. If he didn't love her, she could force herself not to love him. She wouldn't stand in his way. If it was Christine he really wanted, let him fantasize, let him yearn. She would not interfere. She stayed in her mother's old apartment, wandering the city in a mindless, heartless, blank stupor during the day, while falling into a restless, nightmarish slumber at night. She dreamt of awful things. Death, destruction, Erik – all these things and more.

It was on the fourth day of this horrid existence that Meg encountered someone unexpected on the streets. While unseeingly strolling the Champs Elysee, she found Christine having a solitary breakfast in a small café. Christine noticed her immediately, beckoning her to join her. Pleasantries were exchanged, and soon Meg was nursing a hot cup of coffee as she listened to Christine talk in circles. She was clearly hesitating on something, wanting to say, but at the same time not.

"Christine? Will you please tell me what is on your mind? You're driving me insane."

"Is it true? Are you…betrothed? To Erik?"

"Oh, mon dieu! How? Who told you?"

Christine was quiet for a moment. A spark of jealously flared behind her eyes, which did not immediately leave.

"So it's true then." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Though it was not the entire truth, they were not betrothed, no, they weren't anything at the moment, or ever, Meg did not deny it. She wanted desperately for it to be true. She wanted to be his betrothed, his wife, his love. But she was not. She was nothing to him now.


End file.
